


Safe haven

by orphan_account



Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Existential Angst, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Happy Ending, Healing, Healthy Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23285188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sweeney came into terms with that his luck is running out, and he's gonna end up dead. But he still has to do something before he leaves: there's someone he loves.Then, someone unexpected pops up, and he learns that only him can define his luck.
Relationships: Shadow Moon/Mad Sweeney (American Gods)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Safe haven

Safe haven  
It was cold, the kind which craved his bones out, and made itself at home in his very being. And with an icy and restless downpour of rain, it was such a fucking delight. Sweeney tried to light a cigarette, and when he couldn’t, he burrowed deeper into his jacket, even if it wasn’t much of a shelter. Standing outside the little Lakehouse apartment, he put on his best grumpy scowl, and the “Of course i wasn’t thinking about you in every single shitty moment I’m alive” expression, he furiously tapped his bruised fist against the door, then it opened, and there was him. Shadow fucking Moon, with the stars in his deep eyes, the same stars whose cold, dead light was beating down on Sweeney’s back painfully just moments ago. Shadow was probably dressed for a comfortable night in home, grey sweatpants, a white tank top, and for some reasons totally unknown for Sweeney, one of his socks was red, while the other neon green. And his hair was longer. Not much, but it could be actually called “short-cropped”, instead of a “buzzcut”. And he was as beautiful as ever, a few hard lines on his face, and dark circles under his eyes are gone. The war was far from over, but now, the man looked at ease. The Irishman wasn't sure how long it can last, though, and all he wanted to do is wrapping Shadow up in his jacket, which was a fucking delightful thought, and keep him close to his heart to protect. But he couldn't even protect himself; his luck ran out like sand, cupped in his large, calloused hands. The rage was over, leaving only some tiredness, and bittersweet sorrow: he will die soon. If not tomorrow, a few days later. And the realization that it's not about his coin, he would probably turn up his shoes, no matter what. But he made peace with it; the cruel gods know he deserves it. All he wanted is to see Shadow; everything else is an extra, like if he will be invited in. He very much hoped so. Dying with his pretty face in Sweeney's mind was not a bad thing, not as much as it could be. They had their nights in shitty cheap motel rooms, and it was...tender. Surprisingly so. Once they burst out laughing in the middle of Shads riding him, and had to stop to collect themselves, and Shadow always teased him about being a cuddler, which was true, but the other man liked to snuggle too, shaved head on his chest, legs entwined, soft kisses on each other's skin. There was eye contact during dirty talk, handholding, foreheads pressed together when they came, and once in synch. Shadow later confessed it never happened with Laura. It's been decades since Sweeney was in love, and it was definitely that. Sometimes they just cuddled; there was a lot of “Is this okay...?”s, singing together in the car, watching the desert with its coyotes and stars and mysterious lights, discreet hand holding under tables, a few little imprints in each other's lives. Sweeney smoking a cigarette while Shadow was curling up inside his jacket, flush against his body, awkward slow dancing to no music, singing together, laughter, flirting in bars, predenting to be strangers who get drunk on booze, strange music, and each other. It never ended, but Shads was whisked away, and Sweeney didn't want to be close to the only thing he will miss so fucking badly. It would only make things harder. But he couldn’t resist, he had to make sure Shads was okay, otherwise he will stay alive, and kick everyone's ass. Especially Wednesday's.  
“Hey, Shads.”- Sweeney said, raising his shaking, scarred, red fuzzed hand, still holding the cigarette in a greeting, grinning lopsided, almost mocking. He wasn’t sure whom he was mocking with his thin, pale lips. Shadow just looked up at him, and those fucking stars danced gently in his deep, dark eyes again. Damn his dark eyes, eyes he fell for and made him a poet with a sweet silver tongue.  
“You look like shit.” – The other man blurted out, licking his lips nervously and shitshitshit, it was not the time to think about these lips or that tongue. – “Would you like to come in...? -he asked, tentative, and something ached softly, so softly in Sweeney’s chest, where the rolling hills and the scent of Summer wheat lived, along with all the loves he ever had, and all the things he ever lived through, from the wars, through drugs, to those glorious moments of people fighting for their rights and winning. And Shadow, of course, him. And the response was on his tongue: “Why the fuck would I stand there, in the rain, yeh doorknob?” , but he took one long, good look at how beautiful he was, and all the words died in his lying, bastard being, so he only nodded, and Shadow stepped away to let him in, into the considerable warmth, probably from some heaters, soft, dim glow, and the smell of something cooking. It was so comforting, but his empty stomach gave an angry growl, and it was probably loud enough to hear, because Shadow honest to gods laughed, soft and surprised, and this was the Irishman’s very favourite sound, since Shadow deserved more happiness, he deserved all the good things in the world, and if they would meet under different circumstances, if Sweeney would be still a king with all the wealth in the world, he would buy Shadow so many good, sweet, beautiful things. All he had to offer now was himself, and it wasn’t much. It wasn’t nothing, either.   
“I made some pasta with some shitty easy sauce. Still, it’s more than nothing. You look like you need it. “ – Shadow told him, while gesturing toward the coat hanger, so Sweeney shimmied out of his jacket, and put it up. It was still sodden.   
“Fuckshit!” – The leprechaun yelled, when his coat left a wet patch of rainwater on the IKEA issue rug, decorated with colourful cubes. He had no idea where this sudden anxiety came from. On the second thought, it came from nearing Death with every passing minute. Shadow turned back, surprisingly elegant eyebrows already rising in concern, then just let out a sigh and came to stand errr...eyes to chest with the Irishman. Then took his hands, and it was like a second nature to Sweeney to turn his palm, and entwine their fingers, gently squeezing.   
“Just...breathe with me, okay?” – Shadow asked, putting their entwined hands on muscular his chest, breathing in and out, in and out in a calm, collected manner. Part of Sweeney’s brain wanted to resist just out of spite, but he quickly yielded in his lover’s arms, as fucking sappy it might sound. A few minutes later, his breath was even again. – “By the way, it’s just water. It comes out quickly as it dries.” - Shadow said, in his easy way, how he tricked people with or without purpose into believing he was by no means a sharp man, then showing that he is, indeed, not only sharp, but wise, imaginative, and kind too.   
“I missed you so fucking much.” – the redhead gritted out, spit it from his thin lips, between his yellowed teeth, and slung his arms around Shadow’s hips, which was surprisingly an armful when he wasn’t straining his muscles, soft, and even wide. In return, Shads held onto his shoulders, with heartbreaking familiarity, and pressed his head into his barrel chest, breathing in, tucking himself away, so in return, Sweeney rested his check on the bristly hair on his head, that sweet, dark smell of whatever cologne the other man used, engulfing him.   
“I missed you so fucking much too...” – Shadow sighed, grabbing the front of the other man’s shirt. He planted an ear against Sweeney’s hear, listening to his heartbeat.   
“I missed you too, Shadow Moon.” – The Irishman whispered back, again and again, name falling from his lips like a prayer, like honey, and endless warm summer afternoons.   
“Now, come on, let’s eat, the meal will be cooked soon.” - Shadow said, tugging Sweeney by his hand, hands which still fit perfectly into each other. – “But before that, I would recommend a shower, and I will try to dug out some dry clothes for you.” – normally, the leprechaun would flash a cheeky grin, and ask the other man to join him, but that was not the case right now, he was too tired, wrung out, relieved to see Shadow, and aching with this quiet, domestic intimacy. So he just followed Shadow where he led him, and, in trance, undressed, popping his tired, aching joints, then put his clothes in the laundry basket, as he was told. The water was plenty and pleasantly burned; he washed away every bit of chill and bad feelings crawling up at him, and focused on the here and now. Steaming, and smelling like fresh mint and the sea, he wrapped a towel around his hips, and marched out without a blink of shame about his lack of clothes. Shadow, who was currently stirring a pot of pasta sauce, looked up, and then blushed softly, and it was Sweeney’s turn to laugh. With the shower, some of his libido came back too, and he was appreciating that ass and those arms, and the endless expanse of smooth, brown skin. Speaking about the backside, he grabbed a handful, then squeezed, making Shads yelp, then, he turned around, and hit him oh so gently, in the shoulder with a wooden spoon, all playful mirth, then, they both stick their tongues out at each other, which caused just more laughter.   
“Now get away, and dress up, then bring your ass back there. The dinner is ready.” –Shadow shooed him away, into the bedroom. – “I found stuff which should be the right size. At least the closest I could get.” – and Sweeney went, without a snarky complaint or a snarl, because he trusted Shadow, like Shads trusted Sweeney as well, and it made him feel all giddy, but also anxious, because he was a major fuck-up, not that he did anything worse than killing someone in self-defence, there are politicians and movie directors who did much worse, unspeakable things, and still have their jobs, but Shadow is kind and too good for this world, and the Irishman is not exactly right in his head, but for some reason, Shadow made him calm. Just with one smile, he stopped the chaos in his head. And it’s not like a wise, collected, well-meaning man like Shads couldn’t take care of himself, exact the opposite. Sweeney trusted him to call him out on his bullshit like he did before. And then, they talked, and things turned out good. Of course it was not a foreign conception for him, but things kind of started to went apeshit since the industrial revolution. He found a gray T-shirt with a faded logo of some kind of arcade video game, and red and black plaid pyjama pants. They were warm, and smelled of washing powder, the same he smelled on Shadow’s clothes. A bit of a tight fit, but he was endlessly thankful. It still made something swell in his chest from how...normal this whole thing looked. But the ache in his stomach wiped all his thoughts expect those about eating, and he was quick to join Shadow in the small, dimly lit kitchen. The man himself was sitting at the table, two plates of hot, steaming pasta, a small plate of grating cheese, and sparkling lemonade served. Sweeney literally jumped on it, but sat next to Shadow, dragging his chair there, instead of sitting in front of him. So, it’s easy and natural and so damn good for Shadow to prop up his legs in the Irishman’s lap, and to Sweeney to put his hand on his thigh. The food was good, simple yet satisfying, and when Sweeney stood up, to get his flask, Shadow just sighed, and then craned his neck back, looking up at him upside down.   
“You still haven’t kissed me.” – Shads all but smirked, white teeth flashing, amused, easy, feeling at ease, and after his smile, that was the leprechaun’s favourite look on him.   
“No, I haven’t.” – Sweeney agreed, and then leaned down. – “But we can fix it easily.” – The kiss was soft, chaste, like one someone would give to their partners, passing them by in the kitchen. That’s what exactly happened, not some biting kiss in the middle of some rough sex in a motel room...not that wasn’t nice, but Shadow deserved better. He deserved exactly what he wanted, and the man was a romantic at heart. Probably years of married life did that to someone. And after being cheated on, Shadow was somehow still a romantic. And it was not just about romantic relationships. It was in how he looked at the endless expanse of stars, were polite to strangers, how he pet dogs, and joked with children, and when a cat was watching him from afar, it’s old and wise eyes glittering, feeding on not on the attention of weak humans, but on information, he looked back, just as curious, head tilted on the side, and when it passed by Sweeney, there was amusement on the old cat’s face, as much as cat-god-god-cats can be amused. And something smug, knowing. He didn’t really liked cats.   
“No getting drunk under my roof. At least not now.” – Shadow playfully jabbed a finger between his ribs. Sweeney just sighed, but nodded curtly. –“That’s not why you’re here.” – He continued, in his soft, sure way, and the Irishman was at loss of words again.   
“No.” – he breathed softly, and leaned in to bury his nose in Shadow’s neck, inhaling softly, and wrapping strong arms around his waist. The other man simply sighed again, softly smiling, and managed to flick his earlobe gently.   
“You seem to be in a mood tonight. Outside of your usual ones. Not that I mind it, all of this physical affection.” – He cuddled deeper into the leprechaun’s embrace. – “I’m just wondering: is everything okay?” – Sweeney grunted, wordless, trying to calculate how much the truth would cost him. Probably too much, for both of them, but Shadow was a fan of honest and open communication, as he told him already in the very early stage in their relationship. After their first kiss, in a darkened corner of a seedy bar, then as they stumbled into bed, eager hands undressing each other, mouths smashed together. So, he opened his filthy mouth. –“’M not sure how much time I have left.” – There, he said it. Shads made a noise like his voice have been punched out of him, and they both tightened their hug.   
“Well, then we should make our time together as memorable as we can.” – Shadow tried to joke, weakly, his voice small. The leprechaun said nothing, not for the first time in the evening. And like he was reading his mind, Shadow pulled him gently down on his lap, and started to card his finger through the red, messy, badly cut hair. Sweeney awkwardly folded his too long, gangly limbs, and crouched down enough to put his head on Shadow’s chest and a large hand over his heart. – “But I do appreciate your honesty. I told you, communication is the key. Especially in relationships. I’m glad you listened.”- A sad smile, poorly hidden tears. Sweeney wanted to wrap him up and tell him everything is gonna be okay, but he promised to not to lie to him anymore. Right now, he was the one being comforted, like he did with Shadow on the run oh so many times, but now, he was who needed this. – “You’re here now, that’s what matters.” – Shadow breathed at last, trying to convince both of them that it’s okay, it’s not, really not, but they will be. They have to be. Sweeney still said nothing, and Shadow started to hum wordlessly, which brought back some pleasant memories about songs sang together, him not being able to hold a tune, and the Irishman’s voice raspy from decades of chain-smoking. Still, he smiled fondly of the memory, then pressed his cheek against Sweeney’s hair, and closed his eyes.   
Neither of them was sure how much time they sat there, over the dirty dishes, food in their bellies creating a false sense of security, Death looming over them, like the storm brewing over the town. But it was Sweeney who pulled himself together first, lips pulled into a snarl, some of his old assholeness coming back. But it was just a facade: when he flipped them over, and pulled Shadow into his lap, he did it carefully, giving him plenty of time to back out if he wants, like he always did before any touch. He doesn’t, just settles into his lap, thick thighs on either side of his bony hip, snuggled against his chest. Soft, cozy, comfortable, so he stole a gentle kiss on the forehead. Felt much more stolen then anytime he fell to his knees in a dirty bathroom for Shadow. Because now, it was the man’s home, the dim light painting him in golden, like Sweeney always thought he should be. Framed by beautiful things, a riot of colours, the night sky, with the stars in his eyes and the gentle light of the planet he had been named after gilding his skin with silver. Glitter on his collarbones, or water, honey, so the Irishman could lick it off, on his back in the homeland’s green grass and wildflowers. He only deserved the best, and it’s sure as fuck Sweeney wasn’t the best, but it’s sure as fuck he will try to be.   
“I should go and shower soon.” – Shads murmured against the coarse fabric of Sweeney’s shirt, but made no moves or whatsoever. The latter just hummed, and rested his cheek against the short, buzzed hair on top of Shadow’s head, then folded him in his arms a bit more tightly. – “And you need sleep. We can shower together or fuck, drink, or anything you want tomorrow. You look like shit, quiet handsome shit, but still shit. That type of exhaustion which leads to being ill and that wouldn’t be nice. So...” – he gently kissed the leprechaun’s freckled neck. “...let me go now. I will be quick, and we can cuddle. Don’t fret over what tomorrow brings now.” – With those final words, he lifted himself off from Sweeney’s lap quickly, kissed him gently on the lips, and went to collect his pyjamas, then shower. Sweeney drank several glasses of water; then laid on the couch, with a book he took off from Shadow’s surely growing bookshelf. He felt like he was stealing time from Death while he was reading about the life of Mary Shelley and the backstory of Frankenstein. He did meet Death once: she was pale with black hair, wore only black, and was short, so short; she was around Sweeney’s elbow. Even in her weird platformer boots. Although compared to him, everyone was short. His fingers itched for a smoke, lips for a drink, and he wanted to crawl out of his skin, or at least go into the night and cause trouble, and die buzzed, high, and laughing, but then, Shadow came out of the shower, and oh boy. His soft dark skin was warm; he looked relaxed, and smelled flowery. Not a man who’s masculinity is too fragile to handle soaps, then. Knowing Shadow, he probably shopped in that store where everything is colourful, and the products have interesting names and even little backstories. He had to shed first the skin society put on him as a black man, growing up surrounded by people who still lived in the fifties, then finding a way to connect to his people, then he had to shed the one put on by the expectations Laura had toward him: when he didn’t turn out the man she wanted, or thought she wanted, luckily, she become cold. And last, he needed to put down that macho bullshit about his sexuality crisis, which was not that hard, Shads thanked his late momma for that. For raising him right. So now, he was interested in actually wearing colours, and befriended someone who was all out and proud, and called Shadow a “baby queer”, while showing him books he could educate himself with.   
“Hey, I’m back.” – Shadow cuddled up against Sweeney’s side, closing one eye, while keeping the other on the Irishman, jutting out his lips slightly like he always did when thinking: now, he looked over Sweeney, trying to decide if he’s any better. He wasn’t that much, but Shadow was a sight for sore eyes, and he was damn empty without the nonchalant and unapologetic way he propped up his head on his hand, comfortable in his skin.   
|I hope yeh will heal fast and will be this easy in your skin after I’m gone, because yeh deserve it, you gorgeous fucker. Embrace it, don’t close up, because I’m so glad that I could have been a part of yer self-discovery, and these months were the most beautiful of my life. I love you so much, and I will always love yeh, asshole, don’t forget that. Don’t forget me, but move on. I would feel better if yeh can. Look for me, and yeh will always find me. I will go home, maybe. May yeh and I meet again, mo grá.|- he thought, but said nothing, just closed the book, and slowly put his hands under Shadow’s shoulders and knees, grunting as he lifted him, which earned him, as usual, a light swat at his head, and some mock-scowling. Of course, Shadow wiggled into a comfortable position, and relaxed, when halfway to the bed, Sweeney’s bad knee gave out. He fell to his ugly face, but had enough time to dump Shads on the bed as gently as possible. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Shadow blinking over the edge of the bed, and him, laying face-down, unharmed but stunned, on the soft black and white, square patterned rug. The same IKEA issue type like in the living room. Then, the man on the bed started to laugh, and Sweeney joined him, rolling over. They were both wheezing with relieved laughter, something precious, important, and really needed.   
“Come here, you ass.” – Shadow said finally, still chuckling, opening his arms, and Sweeney went, wrapping his arms around Shadow, spooned him to his chest. They shared one chaste goodnight kiss, and Shads turned off the dim, cozy glow of the bedside lamp, then cuddled deeply into the strong, long arms holding him, and the fresh Starry night patterned duvets, and fell asleep quickly, a rare event. Now he felt safe, content, and satisfied, laying in the arms of the man he loved. Unlike Sweeney, whose mind felt like busting out of his too big ears, colourful and sharply aching like in the seventies, when he was trying new drugs, but now, they were only the thoughts crushed in tall and tall piles, and the oncoming storm looming over them. But he pulled Shadow closer, breathed in deep, and with a hand feeling for his heartbeat, the leprechaun fell asleep too.   
  
When Sweeney woke up, it was dark, with the chloride, too bright darkness of a washed out, still 2 am. It always smelled like neon lights, disinfectants, cheap booze, sweat, blood and painkillers for him, but now, there was something lingering in the air. Something like fate. Next to him, Shadow slept peacefully, and the leprechaun made sure to not to wake him as he rolled out of bed, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from his jeans on his way to the porch. It was biting cold outside, but it’s not like he wasn’t used to shitty conditions. And, thinking about what Shadow would probably say, he had the mind to actually put on at least his jacket. Making Shadow angry at him was one thing, and it was rare: even if it happened, it faded quickly. But for fuck’s sake, he couldn’t stand Shads being sad, or worried for him, those damned dark eyes, so sorrowful looking at him. So he made sure he never saw Shadow sad, and if it meant facing himself and offering a hand for a shake and a peace talk, instead of a punch, be as it be. He could do it; it’s the least he could do, to try to be the best damn boyfriend possible, not like it was an unwelcomed challenge when it came to his love. As he mused over the first time he said the big L-word (and no, not lesbians no matter how Sam joked), a familiar voice suddenly appeared too close to his right ear:   
“So, he finally has chosen, huh?” -the voice was somehow watery, and gurgling, like the owner wasn’t in charge of their vocal chords. Because they weren’t: when he turned around, hands automatically curling into heavy fists, it was Laura. What remained of her. Not much, to be honest. It wasn’t a pretty sight. White hot protective (jealous?) feelings unfurled in his stomach.   
“An’ what are yeh doin’ there?” – He spit. Laura just smiled, sad and small, and somehow it wiped all his anger off from his face. He felt like as he has been slapped.   
“Me? I came here to say goodbye. Properly, at last.” – All Sweeney could do was nodding.   
“From him?” – He asked finally, arrogance fading away. The Irishman suddenly felt small, like a deer caught in the headlights, standing in the force field of Laura’s defeated smile.   
“Yes. And in a way, from you too. I caused enough pain for both of you, and I hurt myself as well. I want to rest now, Mad Sweeney. And I want Shadow to finally rest his weary soul too. Do you promise me to take care of him?” – She looked him dead (no pun, hah) in the eye, and he nodded again.   
“I love him so fuckin’ much it scares me sometimes. “ – Sweeney whispered, and Laura looked relieved. She stepped closer, took his big, scarred hands into her cold and clammy, once-soft and once-elegant ones, and pressed something into his palm she fished out of her dress. How, Sweeney had no idea, but that didn’t dawn on him at all: he was too gobsmacked by what the thing was. Round and warm to the touch: singing of old, more glorious times. His coin. He resisted the urge to snatch it away and press it against his heart, hiding it under his shirt.   
“This is yours. Where I'm going, I will have no use of the Sun, but he regrets giving it away. And care about him too much to let the man whom he loves fade away like I did. - with that, Laura play-saluted him with two fingers, and walked away, into the deep, dark abyss. Somewhere Sweeney had no means to follow her. He only hoped the whatever things awaiting for her will be kind to her.   
Scíth a ligean, Laura. - he said to her back softly, and after she completely disappiered, he threw the cigarette butt into a cup he brought with himself. Suddenly, he felt tired, and not like he almost always was tired, that seemed to heal as Shadow encoureged him to heal too. The type he liked to cure with warm whiskey what tastes like honey, an evening by the fireplace, old stories of older times, and a round or two between the sheets with Shads. But right now, all he wanted to do is curling up with him, so he followed his heart, and went in. As put the coin for safekeeping into one of his deep pockets filled with all kind of knicknacks, he hesitated. But one look at Shadow told him that all he needs lays there, snoring softly. Still, it's nice to know that he will not die. So, he can stop tumbling with the Wheel of Fortune, stop letting his luck decide his destiny. From now, he's gonna take both in his hands. As he laid down, Shadow waked up a bit.   
“You're back, dear...good. Now put those cold hands away from my thighs, please. You can put them back when they're warmer.” - he sighed, and curled back into Sweeney, already falling back asleep. Sweeney gave a throathy chuckle:   
“I'm here, Shads. And i'm not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> First Irish word: My love  
> Second: rest, as a verb
> 
> CWs: mentions of drinking, actual smoking, mentions of sex, thinking about Death, mentions of undefined mental ilnesses and addiction 
> 
> Hey, just beacuse i live in the UK it doesn't mean i can English, ok? I'm not really sure i want any mistakes pointed out(anxiety is a bitch), but feel free to leave me "everything is beautiful and nothing hurts" MadMoon prompts! Thank you for reading, i hope this brought at least a little of joy to someone. I had plenty while writing. We need more of these disaster men in love doing OK. This had been my biggest work, idk how some amazing ppl out there can write enormous fics. Hyperactivity and focus problems are bitches as well. i just wanted this to see my boys happy and together, and fix Sweeney's death beacuse i can't accept it. Also, i wrote Laura better than i like her, lol
> 
> Stay safe and take care! - Frank


End file.
